


The Second Time

by Reikukaja



Series: Life Without the Sun (Jeankasa) [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Awkward Tension, F/M, Healing, Kissing, Manga Spoilers, POV Mikasa Ackerman, Romance, Spoilers, jeankasa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 18:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13440495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reikukaja/pseuds/Reikukaja
Summary: Year 860.Two years after Eren’s death, Mikasa and Jean have developed a close friendship built upon mutual support in a time of despair and loneliness, and Jean has become like a father to her son, Deron. The friendship becomes complicated after a heated moment transpires between the two of them, and Mikasa wants to make things better again.





	The Second Time

**Author's Note:**

> A while back, I wrote a Jeankasa story. That story was intended to be standalone, and I never planned on expanding upon it..... but that's exactly what I did with this story. I couldn’t help myself – I really like this Jean and Mikasa. Specifically, this takes place after the last flashback in the original story, [Life Without The Sun.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12406074)

In Mikasa's dreams, Jean's cup was always empty. Every time, she would stand up with the intention of filling it for him and making his tea just the way he liked. He liked it black, so it wasn't as if there was any trick to it. It wasn't difficult. She never quite got that far though. 

Mikasa always hesitated in front of him where he sat at her kitchen table. Jean always sensed her hesitation, and stood up to meet her. She always stepped forward, pressing her lips to his. He always eagerly kissed her in response. It really wouldn't be such a terrible kiss, if Mikasa didn't always break down.

And then she cried. She always cried at the end of this dream.  _Not a dream. A nightmare._

This wasn't  _really_ a dream  _or a nightmare_ , she knew...not entirely. It was a memory – a horrible memory that her mind forced her to relive almost every night when she went to sleep. Nearly every night for the last two months. 

_Ugh._

Mikasa shuddered as she woke. 

_Damn it. Her dreams would not let her forget about that kiss. That horrible, mortifying disaster of a kiss._

Frustrated, Mikasa rubbed her eyes and rolled over in bed, clutching her pillow tight to her chest. 

Jean and Deron were already up, of course. Jean was always up before her, always ready to start another day. Mikasa wished she had that kind of energy and motivation. By now he would have already folded all of the blankets neatly on the couch which had served as his bed for most of the last two years. 

Mikasa heard Deron squeal from the other room, and remembered that today was pancake day - his favorite. Jean sure had a way of spoiling her son. She had a feeling that if the boy were forced to choose between his mother and Jean, he would probably go with Jean without having to even think very hard about it. That was okay though. Jean was a positive influence on her son's life, so she wasn't about to get jealous or complain. She laughed as she thought to herself that Jean was a better mother than she would ever be.

Still tired, Mikasa had to force herself to get out of bed. She wasn't old - only 25. Getting out of bed shouldn't be such a battle, but it was - every single day.  Jean assured her that she had earned a couple years to rest, after all of the years they spent fighting. It had been five years since the war ended, and two since the Curse of Ymir finally took Eren. She wondered if there was an upper limit to the amount of rest she could possibly need. It didn't seem so.

All of that rest had made Mikasa weak – soft. She had once been heavily muscled, like the ideal soldier. Now though, there was very little meat to her. She had become thin, and her build resembled what she remembered of her mother's. 

Mikasa lazily pulled on her robe over her pajamas, and prepared herself for the chaos that would surely await her. With a four-year-old, every day was chaos. As she exited her bedroom she was greeted with a familiar sight that filled her with warmth. Jean was standing over the stove making breakfast, while Deron talked to him excitedly from the kitchen table. 

"Good morning!" Jean was cheery this morning, like most mornings. Mikasa wished his energy was contagious.

"Good morning," Mikasa responded, while simultaneously letting out a drawn-out yawn. 

Mikasa joined Jean in the kitchen and happily noted that he had already brought water to a boil for some tea. Mikasa made herself a cup and thought to herself how fortunate she was that Jean was around. Jean smiled at her as she did this, as if it was a normal morning. Mikasa supposed it was. He wasn't the one being plagued with nightmares about  _her_.

Mikasa was convinced that Jean must be superhuman. If not for her own horrifyingly vivid memories of the encounter, she might be able to believe that the kiss never happened at all. Jean bounced back like nothing awkward had transpired between them. The biggest difference in his behavior for the last couple months was in his unwillingness to touch her. Before, he was comfortable hugging her or putting his hand on her shoulder. Now it was like some invisible barrier came between them, like touching her would cross some line. It was like he thought she was this fragile thing, and one touch could be enough to send her over the edge again. Jean was too considerate for his own good. 

The truth was that Mikasa missed his touch.  She missed the casual contact that had become normal between them over the last couple years. She had come to accept it as a natural part of her life, and she didn't immediately realize how much of a comfort it was. Its absence was obvious to her, now. It was especially notable on mornings like this one. Before, he would have casually rested a hand on her shoulder as she made her tea, teasing her about how she couldn't function without her precious caffeine. He might have hugged her when she emerged from her room, pretending that he had been worried that she would never get out of bed. She pretended to be annoyed by all of the japes he made at her expense, but she secretly enjoyed them. Jean could almost always make her laugh. 

Tea in hand, Mikasa took a seat at the table with her son. Deron was going on and on about the ocean, and how Jean had promised him he would take him to see it sometime soon. Deron was so much like Eren – like his father. Sometimes it shocked Mikasa. Sometimes she forgot this boy was half made up of her – that he had been a part of her for nine months. He seemed like he was  _all Eren._  

"The ocean?" she asked, taking a sip of her tea.  "You really want to see it?" 

"Yeah!!" Deron was so excitable. "Dad was telling me it's so big that you can't even see across it." 

"That's true," she said gently. "And it's so deep that you can't touch the bottom."

"Whaaaat? Really??" Deron's eyes just kept getting wider. 

"And..." Mikasa paused, drawing out the moment as her son anxiously waited to hear what she would say next. "Because the water is so deep, fish bigger than anything you've ever seen can live there." Mikasa enjoyed the reaction she was getting out of her son. He was so full of wonder and excitement.

"How big???" he gasped.

"Some of them are bigger than tita-..." she stopped herself, before continuing. "Bigger than this house," Mikasa finished, giggling.  Deron's eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. 

"Dad never told me about the giant fish!!!" Deron glared at Jean with a look of betrayal.  Jean just shrugged and laughed at the boy's reaction. 

It no longer felt weird for Deron to refer to Jean as "dad". It made sense. Jean had been around for as long as the boy could remember. It wasn't as if he could remember having any other father. He had been only two when Eren passed away. It just made Mikasa happy to see her son was so loved. Jean took care of him as if he was his own.  

 _He deserve_ _s_ _so much more than a girl who crie_ _s_ _when he kisse_ _s_ _her_ –  _a_ _broken_ _girl who_ _had_ _already_ _b_ _een_ _in love and_ _had a_ _child_ _with someone else._ Sometimes, Mikasa didn't know why Jean stuck around at all. He didn't owe her anything, and they weren't a couple. They were  _something_ _, though_ _..._ something that she couldn't quite explain.

_Damn it Mikasa._

Mikasa grew frustrated again at the thought of her dream that really wasn't just a dream. She wished Jean would wrap his arm around her, as he had done so many times before. She feared she had ruined that – that she had created a boundary between them that they wouldn't be able to work through. She wanted the easy comfort back. She and Jean had been partners, raising her son together. They still were, but it was different now. The air was thick between them, and even the smallest of interactions was laced with a tension that was subtle, but still impossible for Mikasa to ignore.  Jean acted like he was fine, like everything was fine. Mikasa knew he was just acting, though. She had been around him enough to know that he felt the tension too. Why else would he refuse to touch her in even the most casual of ways? 

Jean was an excellent cook. Deron got his coveted pancakes, while Jean made omelets for himself and Mikasa. It was his mother's recipe, he told her years ago when he first made breakfast for her. Mikasa had never really  _loved_ omelets until she tried one that Jean made for her. Now, her ideal breakfast consisted of one of his omelets. She had never really been comfortable cooking real food, herself. She had essentially been a super soldier.  She knew how to kill, and that's what she was good at. Mikasa felt a bit silly, thinking about herself like that. It had been years since she had killed  _anything._

The three of them enjoyed breakfast together as they always did. Deron dominated the conversation, fueled by ideas that Jean had put into his head while Mikasa had been struggling to get out of bed. She knew her son was so lucky to have someone like Jean in his life. Jean was great with kids. She would never have guessed that about him when she first met him 13 years ago. He had seemed so self-absorbed then- so  _cocky_. Mikasa smirked. The thought almost made her laugh out loud at the table. 

Jean noticed the change in her expression. He said nothing, but the two of them made eye contact for the briefest of moments as Deron continued to ramble on about all of the things he was excited about: the ocean, giant fish, the city, animals... the things that dominate the mind of a four-year-old. Jean wore a curious expression – as if wondering what Mikasa thought was so amusing. 

After finishing breakfast, Mikasa helped Jean clear the table as he began washing the dishes. Deron brought his own plate to the sink, and Mikasa sent him to the washroom to brush his teeth.  

"What were you smiling about, earlier?" Jean asked Mikasa as soon as they were alone. He wore a subtle smile, but he didn't look directly at her. He seemed to focus on rinsing off the plate he was holding. "It looked like you thought of something pretty amusing." 

"I was just thinking of you," Mikasa told him, smiling slightly. "I was thinking about how you've changed, since the days we were all cadets together." 

"Ahh," Jean chuckled as he dried the plate with a dishtowel, and grabbed the next one that needed to be rinsed. 

"You're just a very different person than the Jean Kirschtein I met 13 years ago," Mikasa elaborated. "Remember that silly comment you made about how you thought my hair was pretty?"

Jean was obviously aware that she was teasing him now, and grimaced at the embarrassing memory. His face began to turn red, and he seemed to consciously focus more of his attention on the dishes.  

"Well..." he paused, clearly struggling.  "You have really nice hair. I'd never seen anyone with hair like yours before." Jean was very red now, and he was careful not to make eye contact as he spoke. He had always been very quick to blush, and he knew it. "I like that you've grown it out again."

Jean finished rinsing another plate, but Mikasa took it from him before he could grab the towel to dry it. "I can dry," she told him, before continuing. "You still think I have pretty hair, huh?" 

Mikasa dried the plate and set it down with the other one that had already been washed, while Jean worked on scrubbing the last plate clean. 

"You must've already known that," Jean stated after a moment. "Of course I still think you have nice hair." 

Mikasa felt her cheeks flush. Jean almost never outwardly complemented her like this, not about things he liked about her physically. She couldn't help but smile at this. 

Despite the feeling of warmth this exchange was giving her, she couldn't help but notice the thickness that still hung in the air between them. It was heavy with the things that might be said if both parties weren't so hesitant and careful. She  _did_ already know that Jean still liked her hair. He liked more than just her hair, she knew. He cared for her a whole lot more than he expressed with words. He didn't need to say those things out loud.  He showed her how he felt by taking care of her, by making her breakfast every single morning...  _by simply being there for her._

Mikasa was suddenly overcome with guilt. Here Jean was, being absolutely perfect to her... and all she could do was tease him about some comments he made when they were both teenagers. She wanted to make him smile, laugh, and blush. She had never been good at those things, though. Mikasa was always serious. It was what she was known for. Clever banter was not something she had much practice in. 

Jean finished rinsing the last plate and passed it to Mikasa, who was waiting with the dishtowel to dry it. Jean dried off his own hands, as Mikasa held the plate in her hands for a moment. She set it on the counter without drying it.

"Are you going to dry tha-" Jean's question was cut off prematurely as Mikasa wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and pulled him into her, squeezing as hard as she could. She pressed her face to his chest, until she could hear his heartbeat against her cheek.

"Mikasa?" Jean was clearly taken off-guard, and his arms hovered in the air around her. He still wouldn't touch her.

"Thank you, Jean." Mikasa's words came out just slightly louder than a whisper. 

"For.. uhh...  for what??" Jean stammered, arms still hanging in the air, not touching Mikasa.

"For everything," Mikasa said, without moving or loosening her hold on him. 

His resistance to her embrace seemed to dissipate, and he allowed his hands to settle lightly on her waist. Feeling his hands on her again gave her goosebumps, and she grinned stupidly into his chest.

"It's okay, Mikasa." Jean leaned his head forward and let his nose rest in Mikasa's hair. "You really don't have to," he really was too considerate for his own good.

"Yes, Jean. I do."

Emboldened by his acquiescence, Mikasa decided to be brave. He was slow to respond this time, cautious when she raised her head and took his mouth in hers.

Mikasa remembered the last time they kissed – how he had been so quick to reciprocate - so eager. His mouth had seemed so  _hungry_ for her then. The hunger was still there now, but restrained. There was nothing about the kiss that felt wrong, this time. This wasn't a betrayal. It had  _never_ been a betrayal. She didn't know how she could have ever felt that way.

Eren was gone. Gone. Dead. Buried. He had been gone for two years. _Jean was here, now_. He had kept Mikasa going, when she thought she could no longer move forward. He had been the single biggest source of warmth for her when it seemed like the sun was plucked from her sky. Jean had become a father to her son, when he never really had to. Deron truly loved him. 

Mikasa loved him, too.

After too-short a time, the kiss broke. It was not Mikasa who stopped the kiss this time. Jean held her firmly at arm's length, and seemed to examine her face. 

"What?" Mikasa furrowed her eyebrows as she looked up at Jean, not sure why he had stopped things where he had. Had she done something wrong? Was she too presumptuous?

"I just wanted to make sure you're not crying this time."


End file.
